1995

In 1995 I was the victim of a violent home invasion.

Three perpetrators bursted through my front door one evening and began attacking my boyfriend, my brother and I.

They destroyed my entire apartment, robbed us and took our new puppy named Kilo.

Our puppy Kilo was witnessed being thrown from the perpetrators’ vehicle while still moving on a residential street. The witness took him to a nearby shelter. We were reunited the next morning.

I became traumatized and affected right away.

I no longer felt safe anywhere. I stayed up most nights checking and rechecking the doors and windows to be sure that they were locked.

I was plagued by nightmares and reliving the home invasion in my mind all day long.

Over the course of the next 10 or 15 years I began to slowly but surely develop what’s known as agoraphobia.

Leaving my house alone is next to impossible.

Leaving my house with my husband is a bit easier but still takes some coaxing.

Covid-19 made leaving the house no longer an option.

I go to the salon once a month. That’s it.

I get all of my groceries and goods delivered.

I see my doctor via telemedicine.

The three men who came into my home were very well known to me. They were friends of my older brother.

I had been selling weed and they thought I likely had a lot of money in my apartment. Which I did not.

Two of the three men did time in prison. The third died of an overdose a year later.